


with roguish charm and a welcome heart

by isloremipsumafterall



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 19:01:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3580416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isloremipsumafterall/pseuds/isloremipsumafterall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porthos finds a USB stick on the library one night and gets drawn into a story that he finds on there, trying to find the owner and wondering why it is he relates to the story's love interest so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	with roguish charm and a welcome heart

It was almost near closing time when Porthos made it to the library, dropping into a seat in front of the computers and grumbling at it to boot up faster so he could print his report for class the next morning.

 

Practice had gone on later than expected and caused him to be in a bigger rush than normal, he still felt sweaty and that the quick shower he’d gotten had done any good to wash the grime of the rugby field off of him.

 

But being a scholarship student meant that he had to keep his grades at a certain level which meant he had to turn in the paper that morning and since he had no printer at home…the library it was.

 

Jamming the USB stick he was carrying with him into the computer he navigated to the folder where the file he had been working on should be only to find a completely different set of files.

 

“What?” Porthos muttered under his breath, annoyed at recognizing none of the file names. He looked over at the computer tower and noticed another USB stick there, right underneath his.

 

A second later his USB picked up and the option to open it popped up on the screen. Quickly he found his paper and printed it off, relaxing with a sigh that it was done now.

 

And since he had the time…

 

He navigated back to the other USB, curiously looking at the files in there.

 

Opening one of them brought up what looked like a biology lab report so for a moment he thought they might have been a biology student…until he opened another file to see scanned drawings of outfits sketched out that looked like they belonged to a student in the fashion program.

 

Forgetting the time he kept clicking on files until he came to one labeled _Queen’s Guard._ His curiosity in full bloom now he opened the word document.

_She’d never been to a city like Paris before, with its varied marketplace that held the wariness of thievery but thrived none-the-less. Unbidden her hand tightened at the sword at her side, a constant companion to her that she hated to hide with the oversized cloak she wore._

_The cold metal reminded her that she had a mission to complete; to find the King’s Men and request permission to join and taking a deep breath she took a step forward only to be driven back by a force running into her._

_She turned around, ready to snap, “Watch where you’re walking!”_

_“Apologies.” A gruff voice rumbled next to her, “All right there Madame?”_

_She drew herself up, irritated at the title but knew she had to let it go. It wasn’t as though this man knew the things she had done to escape the life of marriage and it was proper to call her by such a title with the state of her marital status unknown._

_“Perfectly fine no thanks to you.” She grumbled, looking over at the man who had run into her._

_From what she could see of the dark skin that was visible he wore scars, a long one over his right eye and another on his left hand. The shirt he wore was loose at the top, a style she had noted when she entered the city, and she looked away quickly least he noticed but caught the wide roguish grin on his face._

_“You can stop that.” She informed him, taking a step back with a scowl._

_The laugh came unexpectedly but even she had to admit it was nice; the kind that felt welcoming and not at all the jeeringly laughter she had heard before._

_“That’s a nice sword.” The man nodded his head to the one on her belt, she scrambled to cover it again. “Planning on fighting many people with it?”_

_The way his words came out suggested to her that this man, whilst appearing educated, had spent time in the lower slums to get that accent._

_Her experience with the lower slums generally meant thieving and with that in mind she narrowed her eyes, patting her other side to in fact find her purse missing._

_“Hand it over.” She demanded._

_He raised an eyebrow, taking in the stance she slid into by habit, reading to pull her sword out._

_“All right,” He grinned that cocky grin again, pulling her purse from seemingly nowhere and throwing it to her. “Wouldn’t want to see what you could do with that sword just yet.”_

_His words made her pause, another suspicion growing in her._

_“What do you mean just yet?” It sounded like some kind of test._

_The man shrugged, bowed lowly to her and stepped back._

_“Wait!” She called out but it was too late, he’d already disappeared in the shadows._

_She gritted her teeth in annoyance, wondering who could know of her and her arrival into the city…_

“Porthos!” His name being called snapped him out of greedily reading the words on the screen and he looked over to see Samara standing there, the assistant librarian tapping her watch.

 

“Closing time?” He guessed.

 

She nodded, glancing down at the screen and raising her eyebrow. “Are you writing a book?”

 

“Reading it.” He grinned at her, “Taking interest in literature.”

 

Back when he had first started school and stumbled into the library Samara had piled books on him in an attempt to get him interested in poetry. Some of it stuck, some of it didn’t but they had been friends ever since.

 

“Take interest at home, I need to tidy up and close.” Which really meant Samara wanted to get home to read her own books or find Ninon for a lively debate that she and the English professor kept getting in to.

 

He nodded, unplugging the USB and after a second of hesitation grabbing the second one under it.

 

“Samara?” He asked, clearing his throat, “Do you know who used this computer last?”

 

She looked lost in thought for a minute before shaking her head. “Sorry, no idea, Porthos. Why?”

 

“No reason.” He lied, grabbing the papers from the printer that were still lying there after he got distracted. “Jus’ curious is all.”

 

Waving goodbye behind him he stepped out of the library, ignoring Samara’s calls to him to tell him to take a shower and stared at the USB in his hand, wondering who had written that story and how much more of it there was.

~~

After spending most of the night stealing Aramis’ laptop and reading the story that was written on the computer Porthos came to the conclusion that he wanted to meet the writer.

 

For one thing to tell them what a great story it was and for another to ask when the woman in the story, Mademoiselle de la Porte, would find out that the man who had been helping her was the King of the Court, Du Vallon.

 

It was strange but he felt like he knew the characters. The discharged guardsman in chapter three reminded him of Athos, the flirtatious noble that de la Porte met in her first trip to the palace was reminiscent of Aramis and de la Porte’s other friend in the Court was a lot like Flea.

 

It also might have been egotistical but du Vallon reminded him a lot of himself, including that scar over his eye though someone writing him in as love interest seemed ridiculous.

 

The only real way to get an answer was to find the writer.

 

Which is why Porthos began hanging out in the biology labs in between classes, it wasn’t like he expected to recognize the writer right away but it gave him some kind of hope.

 

“This is boring.” Aramis stated next to him with a sigh and Porthos elbowed him.

 

“What’s wrong Aramis,” He teased, “Can’t seduce skeletons?”

 

Across the hall from them in a case was a skeleton replica of a human and Aramis snorted, smoothing down his moustache.

 

“If Aramis is seducing skeletons than that explains why he’s not passing out class.” An acerbic voice came from the side and Aramis spluttered in denial.

 

Porthos in the meanwhile looked over Aramis’ shoulder to grin down at Constance whose blue eyes looked back at him, mischief practically filled to the brim,

 

“You realize you were actually supposed to be in that class right?” Constance jerked her head towards the door where the class had just gotten out from. “Not just waiting around for it to end.”

 

Professor Lemay stepped out, stopping before them.

 

“I have to agree with Constance here Aramis, I think we need to discuss your class attendance for the labs.”

 

If it hadn’t been for Aramis’ easy grin and how he took a step forward to clap Lemay on the shoulder, pushing him down the hall way with stories spilling from his tongue Porthos might have been worried for his friend.

 

“He’ll wiggle his way out of this one I suppose.” Constance shook her head, sighing.

 

Porthos bumped into her lightly and making her look up at him, looking to cheer her up. “Want to help me sneak a skeleton into his bed?”

 

Her laughter filled the hallway and Porthos puffed up just a little in pride that he had made that happen. It was always a pleasure to see Constance amused, her wide smile all he could see and ever got to see enough of it.

 

It almost reminded him of…no.

 

She couldn’t be.

 

He glanced down at the sketchbook in Constance’s bag, the one that held drawing of outfits she loved to make for herself and her roommate Anne.

 

“What brings you to this area anyway Porthos?” Constance asked him, pulling her hair out of the ponytail she always wore in labs.

 

“Jus’ waiting for you.” He replied, offering her his arm in an over exaggerated gesture and noting the way she rolled her eyes but her cheeks were still just a little pinker.

 

“Enough of that.” She still took his arm, loosely sliding hers through it despite her protests. “Normally you’re on the field practicing.”

 

He shrugged, not able to give her a good enough answer and still mulling over the possibility that perhaps Constance was the writer.

 

It made sense in a few ways. De la Porte was very similar to Constance, so similar that while he’d been reading it he’d been picturing her the whole the time, except that that could mean that du Vallon was like him and possibly even _was_ him and that…

 

“Porthos are you all right?” Constance was leaning up into him, her hand rising to rest against his forehead to feel if he had a fever. “You’ve been distracted these past few days, Samara said she found you in the library just staring at a computer screen.”

 

“Was reading.” He muttered and offered her a smile. “I’m fine Constance.”

 

She pulled away, keeping a worried gaze on him. “If you’re certain. But you know I’m here if you need to talk Porthos.”

 

She tucked a stray curl back behind her ear and he’s eyes followed her hand, wondering if her curls were as soft as they looked.

 

Before he could worry her more with the staring however Porthos grinned impishly, something she noticed right away.

 

“Porthos…” She warned and yelped when right after Porthos’ arms wound around her waist to pull her towards him and up in the air. “Porthos!”

 

She was laughing however, like she usually did whenever he did this, normally after the team had just won a game and he’d sought her out to see if she had been watching.

 

The first time he did it she slapped him and he apologized profusely and promised to never do it again. She’d told him it was all right, running a hand through her hair and telling him that she’d probably curse him right before it but so long as she had some kind of warning it would be fine.

 

When she had started reading his smiles so easily he had no idea, though it was probably around the same time he began reading hers too.

 

“Put me down you great lug.” She told him, still laughing as he swung her around and then set her down. Her hand rested on his shoulder as she caught her balance.

 

“I guess you are perfectly fine if you’re still doing that.” She said, grabbing her bag that had fallen on the ground.

 

He wondered if du Vallon would ever pick up de la Porte like that in the future…

~~

He had met Constance the first day of classes, in the quad where they had all gathered as freshman.

 

She had just punched a man that had hit on her.

 

His mistake had been laughing uproariously at that and having her temper turned on him.

 

“Does this look funny to you?” She had snapped, hands balling into fists.

 

He held up his hands, laughter dying, “Course not, well, him trying that at least. You taking him out, yeah.”

 

She blew a red curl out of her face, relaxing just a bit and Porthos knew right there and then he wanted to get to know her.

 

And then the man had gotten back up, yelling vitriol at Constance and Porthos had knocked him out leading to them both getting into trouble that day.

 

They’d been friends since and somewhere in the two years Porthos could admit that he’d noticed certain things about Constance; how she smiled, how she shifted right before tearing into someone doing something wrong, temper flying off the handle, how she patiently waited with him at the hospital when he dislocated his shoulder…

 

He’d just never dug deep into that feeling.

~~

“You know I’m not the only one who seems out of it.” He said at the lunch table, sitting across from Constance who was scribbling something furious down in her notebook. “What are you writing?”

 

“Nothing.” She said quickly, sliding it away from his view when he leaned over the table to look. “Just trying to get some ideas down.”

 

He raised an eyebrow at her and she rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue in answer.

 

“Sure that’s all?” He asked, innocently as possible.

 

“Yes. I just…lost something the other day and I’m trying to remember it as much as possible now.” Her shoulders fell at that, the picture of misery and he felt a pit of guilt in his stomach that it might be the USB stick that was now burning a hole in his pocket.

 

“Must have been important.” He probed carefully.

 

“It was.” She tapped the pencil on her notebook idly, not meeting his eyes.

 

He could have been wrong, he could have been completely wrong but slowly he reached into his pockets and pulled out the USB stick, dropping it in front of her.

 

She stared at it and then at him, mouth dropping open. “Porthos…”

 

He squirmed in his seat, guilty suddenly.

 

“Porthos please tell me you didn’t read it.” She whispered in horror.

 

He nodded his head slowly and Constance groaned, burying her face in her hands and he could just barely see that her face was red.

 

She took several deep breaths, raising her head again and looking at him.

 

“I can explain.”

 

“It’s amazing.” He said at the same time.

 

“See I knew you weren’t interested back and it was a product of…of..wait. Amazing?” She blinked.

 

He nodded again, excitedly this time and grinned. “I like du Vallon.” Porthos straightened his back, chest out, “’S brave.”

 

She tried not to roll her eyes again. “Of course you like him he is...you.”

 

Constance’s eyes were wide, darting to the side for an escape route and Porthos was struck dumb at officially hearing that it was him. He was du Vallon, which meant…

 

“You’re de la Porte.”

 

She nodded stiffly.

 

“So…” Porthos cleared his throat. “Du Vallon and de la Porte… do they ever…get a chance?”

 

Constance froze.

 

“’S clear he loves her.” Porthos kept going, “Even though he’s a rogue.”

 

“He’s _her_ rogue.” Constance said, a smile growing on her face. “She loves him too, just doesn’t know it yet.”

 

“So they get a chance?”

 

“Yes.” Fingers brushed against his own, sliding in the spaces between his and he welcomed it, “They do.”

 

“Can he be a pirate?”

 

“Porthos.” Constance sighed, exasperated, “He’s already a rogue in the Court, he can’t be a pirate too.”

 

“Maybe in the sequel?” Porthos grinned unrepentant.

 

She tilted her head, considering.

 

“Maybe.” She relented.

 

~~

_“Du Vallon have you gone insane?! You could have been killed.” De le Porte hissed, dabbing furiously at his wound with clothe to clean it out._

_“So could you.” He retorted, skin far paler than it should have been and at that moment she’d have given anything to see him healthy and smiling again instead of this gritted teeth mess he had become in pain._

_Her hands shook, in rage and worry and a calloused hand caught hers; soft brown eyes meeting her own._

_“We’ll be fine.”_

_“You don’t know that.”_

_“Sure I do.” His crooked grin barely faltered, “You’re here.”_

_“So?” She’d been making a mess of this far. For all she knew she’d failed in her duty to the Queen now and the city could be burning where they’d left it._

_“So that proves it.” He sounded so sure of himself it was hard not to believe him._

_“You’re an idiot.” She told him, watching him shrug in some kind of agreement, her tone softened at her next words. “But you are perhaps my idiot and I will get us out of here.”_

_She leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his brow and went back to cleaning his wound. The heartbeat under her hand was steady despite the loss of blood and it gave her hope._

_Perhaps it even beat for her._

 

 


End file.
